Crimson Hearts
by Futari COE
Summary: Heroes set out to save the world for many reasons, but who can tell what shocking surprises await near the end of their journey.


**Crimson Hearts**

**A Tribute to Dragon Quest VIII**

A crimson coated quilt of dusk crept over the rolling plains of Alefgard as if to fold the fallen in splendor. While the sun dropped its gaze on the living, glory ascended from a devastating battlefield where too many great hearts had passed on. Green stalks of grass swayed in the wind as they would on any other day. A chill autumn breeze whistled through the leaves of ancient oak trees on the border of the heath land as an autumn breeze would any other year. Today something else had changed on the grasslands. Something that would alter the lives of thousands. There was emptiness now. A distinct sense of loss had stretched across the moor; the kingdom; the world, even. The chirps of sparrow hawks and the song of the living had diminished to staggering moans of pain cast out from the melting pot of massacred bodies spread across the field. No passing soul would be able to tell the difference between those who had lived wicked and those who had strove for virtuosity now. The aftermath was an indistinguishable mesh of cries from a coalescence of good and evil, and those who didn't know who they were fighting for in the end. Many men reflected upon their lives in dying moments and wondered what could have been. Others cursed the names of their enemies. And there were those who passed away with a smile spread across their face, knowing that they had fought for the greater good of all.

At the center of the chaos rested the incarnation of malevolence and the embodiment of sincerity, passion, and love. Two broken bodies and one lost boy hovering over them, his left hand shaking as a child's might after a bad experience with a Slime in the meadow. This hand had cut down the dark tyrant Dhoulmagus and brought mercy to Alefgard. The sword cast from it had also seared through the body of the most wonderful woman in the world. The scene replayed over and over in his mind, tormenting the hero's overburdened spirit and scraping away at the sanity of the boy within. It had happened in such a blur. One moment he had been pinned to the ground, struggling to free himself from Dhoulmagus' vice-like neck hold, the next he had picked up Loto's sword and sliced clean through the oppressor's neck with supernatural strength. During the slash it had slipped out of his hand, however. The bastion of hope streaked through the air. He recalled the horrible, whirring buzz it made along its path of trajectory. The sky faded and life dimmed. It plunged through Jessica's side.

The blade did not kill her. She clutched onto the handle of the legendary sword, struggling to pull it free. The hero looked on in agony ten times worse than what she felt. Jessica freed the blade from her torso just as the shaft of a broken spear exploded through her chest. She grasped eye contact with the hero as she buckled onto her knees, mouth wide open as if to murmur a hallowed "sorry". And then her lifeless corpse crumpled against the solid earthen plains, smock stained a brilliant red. The blood of the innocent leaked into the grass, smearing the line between good and evil. A blood curdling wail erupted from the throat of the hero. It is said that his howl could be heard from across the ocean. He staggered to his feet and bellowed again into the wind. The eyes of the dying turned towards him, for he stood as a harsh upholder of loss for all. His gaze shifted up from Jessica's body and focused on a satin robed figure standing several feet behind. An insignia of Dhoulmagus was etched into his clothes. The man trembled. He looked on in horror, shocked that he could have slain this beautiful lady. Regret and sorrow rolled over in his vacant stare. The hero had already set his mind on its track. Kudoku rushed at the man with tremendous speed. He grasped onto the shell of a body and shook the misguided soul out of it. He punched the man in the face several times, threw him to the ground. Leapt on him, beat him until he was bloodied, bruised, and his spirit had been broken in. The hero unsheathed a knife from the satchel of a fallen magician and held it high over his shoulder. The man looked up submissively, awaiting his death. But it was the hand of King Trode that stayed Kudoku's lunge. "You have fought for love and destiny, Hero. It was never guaranteed that you would win both."

With those words in mind, the hero rolled off of yet another person he had wronged, and laid on his back, gazing at the stars as they peeked out over the blood-spattered sunset. He rested there for what seemed like hours. The ever-turning gears of time halted and the weight of reality sunk in on Kudoku. He rose to his feet for a while, towering above the dead bodies of Dhoulmagus and Jessica, reflecting. The few living stirred around him, moving about in the dying sun and hauling away the departed. Victory had been won... but at what cost? Thousands had died on the plains of Alefgard. How could you measure the value of those lives against the outcome of the battle? It didn't end here. Children would be without fathers, wives without husbands... countless families would endure the pain of a nation. It was an issue of understanding the nature of greater good. For the time being, humanity would toss and turn in pain. But as time strips us of everything, it would strip the world of anguish. The deeds of the fallen would become valid, and the lives of those under the sun would continue on in peace. The passing of courageous warriors would become a myth to be told around the ember-cast glow of fires a thousand years later, the horrific battles of today a far-off memory. Time would heal the plight of the people. But could it ever mend over the gaping hole in Kudoku's heart? The Hero collapsed from exhaustion. The ground now cradled one lost boy and the tears of many.

Years passed and the wounds from the Battle of Crimson Hearts began to fade. Birds sang cheerfully at dawn again, and leaves fell with a familiar autumn breeze. Life returned to normal for most; a day's labor and a hearty supper lapped over each survivor's memories of war; not knowing who would live to eat dinner from one day to the next. Decades soared by and tales scribing the glorious deeds of forefathers were passed down to children who would cherish the stories as if war was a blessed and honorable thing. Though many harvests have come and gone, one name has been honored duly to this day. Kudoku, the Lord of Champions--a name held in such high regard that golden statues of this legendary hero were erected around the world as a tribute of his sacrifices. The question remains of what happened to the Hero after the last great battle, where he was forever scarred by the death of his enduring love. Some say that his spirit rose to the heavens to watch over all life on Earth that day. Others say that he departed, immortal, to live a solitary life in the Eastern Mountains. There is one myth held above all, however, that tells of his peaceful passing on the shores of a beautiful lake. The last word to escape his mouth, they say, was "Jessica". Without a doubt, he passed away smiling.


End file.
